Garrett Bravo's Runaway Bride

Once again, she’s running...

When bride-to-be Cami Lockwood finally escapes the clutches of her domineering family, she accidentally stumbles straight into the mountain retreat of the most alluring man she’s ever met. Garrett Bravo’s never been lucky in love. But that’s before a one-of-a-kind heiress rushes headlong onto his doorstep.

But this time, she’s running toward something!

Garrett’s mother can’t resist matchmaking for her relentlessly unavailable son. So what better way to evade her meddling than to pretend that his accidental arrangement with creative, unique Cami is the real thing? Just one catch: he hadn’t bargained on falling head over heels for the runaway bride turned woman of his dreams...

“It all could have gone so terribly wrong.”

“But it didn’t.”

She caught her lower lip between her pretty white teeth. “I was so scared.”

“Hey.” He brushed a hand along her arm, just to reassure her. “You’re okay. And Munch is fine.”

She drew in a shaky breath and then, well, somehow it just happened. She dropped the purse. When she reached out, so did he.

He pulled her into his arms and breathed in the scent of her skin, so fresh and sweet with a hint of his own soap and shampoo. He heard the wind through the trees, a bird calling far off—and Munch at their feet, happily panting.

It was a fine moment and he savored the hell out of it.

“Garrett,” she whispered, like his name was her secret. And she tucked her blond head under his chin. She felt so good, so soft in all the right places. He wrapped her tighter in his arms and almost wished he would never have to let her go.

* * *

The Bravos Of Justice Creek: Where bold hearts collide under Western skies

Garrett Bravo’s Runaway Bride

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com.

For MSR.

Always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

When the battered bride staggered into the circle of firelight, it was after nine at night, and Garrett Bravo was sitting outside his isolated getaway cabin slow-roasting a hot dog on a stick.

For a weirdly suspended moment, Garrett knew he must be hallucinating.

But how could that be? He’d never been the type who saw things that weren’t there. And he’d only had a couple of beers.

His Aussie sheepdog, Munch, let out a sharp whine of surprise.

“Munch. Stay.” He glanced sternly down at the dog, who quivered in place and stared at the apparition on the other side of their campfire.

Garrett looked up again. She was still there.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, with a ridiculous shout of confusion and lingering disbelief, he jumped to his feet. The sudden movement knocked his hot dog off the stick and down to the dirt. He gaped at it as it fell. Munch cocked an ear and glanced up at him expectantly. When he failed to say no, the dog made short work of the fallen treat.

“Oh, really,” said the tattered vision in white. She came around the fire toward him, waving a grimy hand. “You don’t need to get up. It’s worse than it looks, I promise you.”

It looked pretty bad to him. Leaves decorated her straggling updo and nasty bruises marred her smooth bare shoulders and arms. Her left eye was deep purple and swollen shut. The poor woman’s big white dress was ripped in several places and liberally streaked with mud. And her bare feet? As battered as the rest of her.

“My God,” he croaked. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She blew a tangled hank of blond hair out of her good eye and shrugged. “Well, I’ve been better.”

How could she be so calm? Had her groom gotten violent? If so, the man deserved a taste of his own damn medicine—and speaking of medicine, she needed a doctor. He should call for an ambulance, stat. He dropped his hot-dog stick on top of the ice chest by his chair and dug in a pocket for his phone.

But the phone wasn’t there. Because he’d left it in the cabin. Up here on the mountain, cell reception was nil.

Garrett let out a long string of bad words and then demanded, “Who did this to you?”

The bride remained unconcerned. She hitched a thumb back over her shoulder. “Little accident back down the road a ways.”

“Your groom...?”

“Oh, he’s still in Denver. Some stranger ran me off the road.” As he tried to process that bit of news, she added, “Camilla Lockwood. But please call me Cami.” She offered a scratched, dirty hand.

Numbly, he took it. It felt cool and soft in his grip. And real. She was definitely real. “Garrett. Garrett Bravo.”